Skin in The Hinge

A poem

Aaron Quist
May 30 · 1 min read
Photo by Sean Brown on Unsplash

A home
that never was,
and yet always is.

With a steady knock-knock
and a resounding ding-chime.
With a peek behind curtains drawn
and windows splotched with dirt.
With a rolling of worn tumblers
and the imaginary jangle of knob…